


Some Body

by missmollyetc



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-01
Updated: 2010-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-05 15:23:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmollyetc/pseuds/missmollyetc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has needs, just like everybody else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Body

**Author's Note:**

> Is it wrong that I had that Fifty Cent song stuck in my head during this? Am I just sick?

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |  [supernatural](http://missmollyetc.livejournal.com/tag/supernatural)  
---|---  
  
_ **SUPERNATURAL FIC: Some Body (1/1)** _

Title: Some Body

Pairing(s): Sam/OMC, Sam/Dean (implied)

Rating: NC-17

Warning(s): Incest

Summary: Sam has needs, just like everybody else.

Author's Note: Is it wrong, that I had that Fifty Cent song stuck in my head during this? Am I just sick?

Author's Note (2): This? Is _all_ [](http://wrenlet.livejournal.com/profile)[**wrenlet**](http://wrenlet.livejournal.com/)'s fault. Oh, yes. And also, I was feeling guilty 'cause--no, AU for awhile, huh? It's very difficult when you suddenly discover that your characters aren't as fucked up as you originally thought, or that they might have an incredibly unstable relationship that still bloody works because they are, as it happens, still rather fucked up.

 

Disclaimer: I have nothing (apparently, not even my sanity). Supernatural is the product of Kripke and the WB and a host of others who doubtless have far greater reserves of the good crack than I ever could hope to snort, and so, dear reader, I make nothing from this while they rake in the millions (well, the thousands. It _is_ the WB after all). Which is how I like it. In other words? I. Made. It. Up.

 

 

The club was blinding, deafening, smoldering with too many people and too little ventilation. The smoke gave Sam a contact high on the second breath and he took a third to make certain the lightheaded feeling stuck. To fit in, he unbuttoned his shirt and let the panels frame his trunk, pushed into the crowd and let them touch as he never let anyone touch before. Anymore. Not since freshman year when Van Halen made him drink and drink made him drink more.

Sam closed his eyes to slits and flexed his hips, found the hard bass line and rode it until his bones fit loosely in his body. A hand, too soft, caressed his lower back and Sam moved away. Bodies, too hard or too soft, shorter or taller and he knew it had been a mistake to come. Jess not a year dead, barely cold, and already he'd fallen back into evil ways. Fallen so far he could think the phrase 'evil ways' without irony, too easy and too much and all the problems he thought he'd left behind were all still fucking there.

He didn't do this much. He wasn't a dancer, he didn't _like_ clubs. But Dean did. Dean _loved_ the club scene, dressed up in whatever got him passed the door god faster: glitter and eyeliner or jeans and shitkickers and leather, but always, always the quicksilver smirk like liquid nitrogen.

_You play the game, Sammy, and you get a reward. _

A hand brushed across his chest, paused over his nipple, and then slid down Sam's stomach. He groaned and the hand became a body, compact with muscle, smooth leather jacket on Sam's slick chest, and Sam wanted his reward. He bent his head and short, bristled hair brushed his jaw line. Sam let his eyes drift open, let the strobe illuminate the man rubbing him hard in time to the music and curbed the first, irrational ache of disappointment. The man was enough.

Lips pressed into the sweet spot behind Sam's ear. A wet tongue laved the sweat from his neck. He said his name was Rick, or Dick, or something with a hard 'K' at the end, but Sam didn't care because whoever had blond hair just this side of a brush cut. and his hands felt strong when they clamped onto Sam's hips and pulled him back through the crowd.

Into the dark corner they went and Sam broke from the contact high and the rubbing, tension strumming in his body, since 'dark' and 'corner' hadn't been fun terms for awhile now, but his back met the wall and--Mark? Yeah, Mark's body pressed him harder against the cement.

The cold wall behind him accentuated the heat poring from Mark's body, sweaty, and hard where he pressed against Sam's thigh. Sam groaned and leaned down to drag his mouth along the tendon standing out in Mark's throat, resisting the urge to bite. He had this, he didn't want more.

"What's your name?" Mark whispered. His thumbs circled Sam's hipbones, dipping into the pockets of his jeans. "C'mon, give me something to scream."

Sam swallowed thickly. Electric shocks fired up his stomach, twitching the muscles and forcing him to spread his legs for Mark's thigh, jerking up his hips so that his cock rubbed against Mark's hip.

"Got a preference?" he said, looking Mark in the eye.

"Fucking _perfect,_" Mark groaned. His eyes--he had blue eyes, or maybe brown but it was dark and Sam settled on blue--dilated.

He kissed the edge of Sam's mouth, biting the swell of his lower lip until Sam pulled his head from the wall and kissed back, opening his mouth and closing his eyes again. His fingers scrabbled at Sam's jeans, fumbling the button and dragging the zipper down. His hand reached inside Sam's fly and grabbed his cock, thumb circling the head. Sam grabbed Mark's shoulders, fingers digging into the leather coat. He broke the kiss and buried his face in Mark's neck, moaning.

"Yeah, c'mon," Mark grunted. "Just like that."

Mark's strokes turned rough, jacking him up and corkscrewing down to the tip, spreading the precome all around the shaft. Sam whined. His hand dragged from Mark's shoulder to his neck and into the thick, short hairs at the back of his head. He clenched his fingers in that hair, dragged Mark's head down to his lips and latched onto Mark's mouth, nibbling the top lip until Mark groaned and Sam's tongue could poke inside.

Whiskey and not beer, and it should have been vodka to be perfect, but Sam wanted to die when he thought that because he didn't know if it would have made things better or worse. Instead, he let Mark touch him, let him stroke and kiss and rub himself against Sam, glared when Mark pulled out of the kiss and off Sam's cock, but spread his legs again when Mark turned him to the wall. Sam braced himself against the wall, balanced on the balls of his feet, and pushed his ass out to the sound of Mark unzipping.

"_Fuck,_" Mark muttered. "Fuck."

Sam panted. The air in the club, already thick with heat, had turned wet, oxygen like a slap to his throat, sliding into his lungs and gushing back out again. He strained until he heard the crinkle of something tearing and then Mark was back, latex covered cock already positioned just under the swell of Sam's ass.

"Can I…"

Mark's thumbs drew down the cleft of Sam's ass, a nail circled his hole. Sam undulated, gritted his teeth, and shook his head.

"No," he said. "I've got to be somewhere."

He'd notice. He noticed everything except what Sam hoped he never did and Sam didn't think he was up to covering _that_ up. He asked too many questions anyway.

Mark's head dropped between Sam's shoulder blades. "You're killing me here," he said. "You sure?"

Bristled hair rubbed against Sam's flesh, taunting him with sense memory. "Y--yes," he said. "Just…rub off against me."

He felt the blush rising even as he said it, but Mark was suddenly flush against him, so it went unnoticed. Mark thrust, hips driving against Sam's ass. The head of his cock pushed into Sam's balls.

Sam dug his fingers into the cement wall, catching his nails in tiny divots and paint chips. He shoved backwards, closing his thighs around Mark's cock and Mark's hand took hold of his cock again. Leather slithered around his middle, Mark's arm fisting in the loose panel of fabric of Sam's shirt.

Sam fucked into Mark's grip, while the electricity in his muscles set fire to his blood, pulsing in tune with the music from the dance floor. Stupid, he was being stupid, and Sam wasn't the dumb Winchester. Heat poured from Mark's body, slick with sweat and fluids where Mark's cock drove a path between Sam's legs.

The smell of leather and sweat and smoke pulled at his senses, dragging his mind to the very place Sam hated, where he knew the body pounding into him better than anyone and no one cared, least of all himself. He gripped the wall harder, shook his head so that strands of his hair, stuck to his face with sweat, whipped free. His mouth dropped open on a wild laugh, bloody and free.

Air siphoned from his lungs. He yanked it back inside through sheer will, and the name in his throat took flight, fucking him like the dick under his ass. The hand on his cock stroked harder, a thumb on his circumcision scar, and Sam shook, fire in his blood and sparks in his eyes, come hitting the wall of the club.

"Dean," Sam choked out. "_Dean._"

Mark broke rhythm, hips stuttering back with renewed force in the next second. Sam tightened his thighs, riding each thrust until Mark pulled him off the wall and held him. He stilled, lolling his head on Mark's shoulder until the tension abruptly dissipated in Mark's body.

Mark let go of Sam's cock, rubbing his come into the planes of his abs. He pressed a kiss to the side of Sam's neck, and stepped away, holding on until Sam found his feet.

"Damn," he said, still close enough for Sam to hear him in the club.

Sam coughed, ducking his head, and pulled his shirt close around his body. He grabbed his jeans and pulled them up over his hips, fixing the zipper, but leaving the button. The noise of the club pressed in on him, slicing through the haze of his afterglow. From the corner of his eye, he saw Mark strip off the condom and throw it into the corner. He watched him tuck his spent cock away and do up his pants.

"Damn," Mark said again. "You…know that wasn't my name, right?"

Sam clamped his teeth together, pursing his lips. He looked down at his sneakers, avoiding the mess he'd made on the wall. He wrinkled his nose.

"Look, Jesus, are you…I mean…"

"Dude, I've got…I mean, I've got to get going," Sam said.

He pushed past Mark and into the club, fighting his way through the crowd and out the door.

 

END


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